Shades of Looming Grey
by The Real Iggy
Summary: It wouldn't be long now. Soon one adventurer would have his opportunity to take vengeance on the Mahjarrat who long for destruction, and he would ally himself with the rest to do it. Oneshot, prequel to the not-released-yet Ritual of the Mahjarrat, now updated with post-RotM.
1. God War II

Hey all, this will pretty much be my first venture into the realm of Internet fanfiction.

Writing one that is, I've spent many a few years reading them.

So for the time being my first juncture will be at RuneScape.

As a bit of background, I started playing RuneScape a little more than five years ago, shortly before farming was released. I've come a long way since then, and I enjoy a good story as much as any, so it's time to explore some of the better parts of the mythos, just in time for what looks to be the climax of these quest series with "The Ritual of the Mahjarrat". This is intended to be something of a prequel to this soon-to-be released quest.

Disclaimer: I do not own the base contents of this story. RuneScape, its aspects, and associated trademarks are property of Jagex ltd. The player character here is my own, however.

****Warning**, this story section will contain big spoilers for various quests and aspects of the game, especially While Guthix Sleeps and Temple at Senntisten, as well as the lore of Daemonheim. If you have not completed or read about these things and do not wish to be spoiled ROTTEN stop now.**

With that being said, on with the show!

Chapter 1: God War II

Dusk began to settle around the northern reaches of Gielinor as renowned adventurer Thorkur—known to his Fremmenik brethren as "Thorkur Far-Strider"—exited the teleportation matrix to his house on the outskirts of Rellekka. He sighed in relief as his day of adventuring came to an end.

Adventuring. Hah. All he'd been doing these past few months was mine the day away down in the Living Rock Caverns. The road to skill mastery was a long one, and at this point he was so experienced in the art that further progress was very slow.

Still, some progress was better than none. He'd be wearing that cape by the end of Rintra. And then he'd have to go smelt all of those dozens of thousands of ores…

Thorkur set his Dragon pickaxe and armor in his workshop, noting from the personal connection that his Crystal Shield was now at about half strength. The sooner he could change it back to a bow the better. He hung his cape on the rack nearby, now missing the warmth is flaming countenance brought him in the cold season.

Rubbing his tired arms, now free from their burden, he made his way to the dining room and tugged the bell-pull, instantly summoning his servant with a pop.

"_What is thy bidding my master?"_ Crooned Alathazdrar in that strangely surreal yet creepy voice that all demons seemed to have mastered.

"Could you prepare me some curry, Alathazdrar?" Thorkur answered, rubbing his eyes now.

"_Certainly, my lord."_

As the butler departed to the kitchen to ready his request, Thorkur reclined in his mahogany chair, anticipating the hot spiciness washing down his throat.

Alathazdrar returned a short time later and placed a sizeable bowl of the dish by him, which was immediately seized. Thorkur nearly whimpered in delight at the hot taste. It certainly beat the smelly fish and raw vegetables he'd contented himself with throughout the day.

He polished off the bowl and patted his stomach, then reached into the pouch of money he carried (which, he could never help but notice, always seemed to be able to hold ridiculous amounts of gold coins within a small, relatively light space) and withdrew seven thousand five hundred shinies for Alathazdrar, reduced from its normal rate as a favor from the old man and his spell-happy squeeze Zenevivia.

"My compliments Alathazdrar," said Thorkur as the butler took the money. "Your unique blend provides great relief from the monotony of the day."

The demon bowed.

"_Your praise is appreciated, as an experienced chef yourself, my lord."_ Thorkur waved a hand.

"Oh I'm pretty good but nothing terribly special. Many adventurers are more polished in the culinary arts than I," he said noncommittally.

"_Be that as it may my lord,"_ replied Alathazdrar. _"I've often mentioned that you would do better to work on simpler, cleaner and less menial skills for your first mastery achievements."_

"I know you have Alathazdrar" laughed Thorkur, "and I've often replied that when I first left the family to roam the lands the first thing I learned how to do was mine and as such, it will be the first thing I finish."

"_My lord is as stubborn as ever,"_ Alathazdrar mused. _"Shall I draw a bath?"_

"If you would," he motioned.

Later, the sun had long since set and Thorkur headed into the parlor in his night wear for some reading before bed. An offhand spell lit the fireplace for his hypnotic pleasure and comfort as he made his way to the bookshelf. He bent down.

"Letsee…" he muttered, scouring the various tomes he'd collected.

"Abyssal Book…Ancient Hymnal…Dagon'Hai History… Movario's notes…" he paused, then pulled out the two, tagged volumes copied via a magic spell, and sat down in one of the chairs.

His mood grew grim as he leafed through the writing. It spoke of old machinations of that fiend, Lucien, and the great and mythical object, the Stone of Jas.

A myth that had turned out to be very, very real.

The Fist of Guthix. The Eye of Saradomin. After the events that had transpired a few years ago Thorkur had conducted some research of his own on this lost then found object, and what he'd found only gave a greater sense of foreboding.

The Stone had been mentioned all over. The cryptic writings of Melzar the Mad, desperate scrawls of barbarians whom had perished in the Ancient Caverns, and words of acknowledgement from the Guardians of Guthix upon his questioning all spoke of the same object. Those of the mysterious Oracle had been particularly intriguing.

"_Jas left a stone behind,"_ she'd said. Every other reference he'd encountered spoke of the object by different, many names, but this was the only other instance of the name of "Jas". Just what did this mean? It was true the Stone had passed through many hands over the millennia it had existed, or was it even longer than that? Guthix Himself had said that he had only found both the stone and the unshaped world of Gielinor. At different points in time after, Saradomin had come to possess it and Guthix had tried—and failed—to destroy the Stone before hiding it deep underground for ages untold. Was this Jas the original creator of the stone? Was he some sort of precursor god, who'd roamed the realms before even Guthix and had created the basic shape of the world? If so, where was he now, or did that even matter?

Closing the set of notes, Thorkur recalled his own experience with the Stone, which had only raised even more questions.

_An unnatural stillness seeped through the air of the Ancient Guthix Temple that he'd discovered and made his way inside of. Solving the riddle, Thorkur passed through the giant stone door, the subtle clinking of the robes that had once been Ahrim the Blighted's the only thing accompanying his trepidation. What could be beyond here that required such complex protection? Judging from the nature of the riddle, it seemed designed such that only followers of Guthix would be able to pass through. The tunnel opened into a large cavern. Stone steps in the middle cornered by columns rose up to surround…_

"_It can't be…" murmured Thorkur, "the Stone is real, and it's been beneath Lumbridge all this time?"_

_The Stone was fairly large, and seemed to be made of shapes on the surface. What struck him most was how even and _perfect_ it seemed from every aesthetic viewpoint. Also most peculiar was how it seemed to reflect light that came from nowhere, not quite luminescent itself but clearly not from the torches that lined it. Did conventional senses of the world not apply to objects of the gods? The only part of the Stone he could really understand was the four lights that circled around it. He noticed their color._

"_The elements?" he thought as he walked closer to the object, "what does this mean?" _

_He stopped in front of it. Mesmerized, he reached out his hand… to touch it…_

_Just before the tip of his glove made contact, the four lights representing the elements abandoned the Stone and began to slowly swirl and drift into the space immediately behind him. As this happened, he suddenly regained his composure._

_What was he thinking? He'd discovered an ancient artifact of the gods and he decides to just _touch_ it? He should leave immediately; he should report this discovery to his allies at Falador, lest Movario find out about his deception. If Lucien were to get his hands on this…_

"_By order of the Governance of Guthix, what rights do you have here?"_

_Thorkur had been so wrapped up in the consequences of his actions he'd not seen the—well, _what_ was it, for that matter? In place of the four elemental lights there was now what could only be described as an elemental being. Its legs were air with pebbles swirling about, its torso was a joining of earth and fire, leading to fiery arms and a head made of ice and water. It was like those elemental creatures he'd seen before; only he'd never observed one composed of all four._

_Nor, he shuddered, had those elementals radiated an aura of such distinct power._

_Thorkur gave the most coherent answer he could think of at the moment._

"_What?" The Elemental did not give a very understandable answer either._

"_Perhaps some violence will make you understand?"_

_As the Elemental drew up a bow made of fire, Thorkur once again cursed the foolishness of his actions. He really must have more sense than to mess with divine artifacts in the future…_

_Thorkur hastily uttered a prayer to the god Zaros to protect him from harm and curse his enemy with reflected damage. It had been a very, very good thing he'd gone this whole way fully prepared. He'd donned his most powerful robes and staff while carrying the best healing supplies he had and runes for a simple yet highly effective spell. He also had an emergency teleport if things got bad. As he'd hoped, he was currently protected from the Elemental's ranged attacks, but naturally that would have been too easy for the being wizened to his tricks and fired a magical missile composed of air and water. The spell contained much more force than anything he himself could produce however._

_Thorkur used every advantage he'd brought along to fight with the Elemental. He changed the curses Zaros offered him as fast as he could while making sure to fire spells and keep himself alive. He noted he must not let the Elemental get close to him. An upfront assault would only add to the danger, a mage was best when they kept their distance…_

_The Elemental suddenly lowered its bow and spoke to him again._

"_Do you know what, Thorkur? I've really missed you. It's been such a long time, and your funeral was just such a lovely event."_

What?

"_And what was it you used to say to me? Oh, I remember it well, since it was like yesterday. Ah, well, I guess you know better than anyone that the good die young!"_

"_What do you…?" Thorkur started, but he was interrupted._

"_Oh well, back to the battle…I'm enjoying it, are you?" _

_Brutal spells and flaming missiles once again began to rain down. Thorkur barely had time to register that the being knew his name before he returned to defending from some of the heaviest attacks he'd ever experienced._

_As the battle stormed onwards, Thorkur began feeling progressively weaker and sluggish. His favor with Zaros also seemed to be diminishing. Realizing what was happening, he uncorked a vial of Super Restore potion and took a swig, regaining his power for the time being. Feeling strong again, Thorkur renewed his assault of Magic Darts. He was about to take another sip when the Elemental's stance once again ceased._

"_The bloom of youth only lasts so long. What can any of us aspire to but a glorious death, and yours was glorious."_

_He was seriously confused now, but remained on his guard._

"_Oh, and the other days someone else was talking about how much they missed you. How you used to light the place up with your laughter, but it's all gone now. But you know that better than any of us!"_

"_You don't make any sense at all!" Thorkur shouted in frustration._

"_But of course, it's always nice to talk, though, and 'manners maketh the man', is what you always told me."_

_And with that, the Elemental lunged at him again._

_Panting heavily, Thorkur drank some potion and began praying in earnest. The curses' reflection effect seemed not to damage the Elemental, but guarding himself from damage was crucial, if his dwindling supplies were any indication. Ranged attack switch tactics… magic attack change curses… if it continued much longer, Thorkur would not prevail. Not that he had any idea how much damage the Elemental had received. Or if it was even damaged at all._

_As he reached the last few bits of his rations, he noticed the Elemental seemed to be slowly coming apart. Perhaps he'd had more of an effect than he'd thought. He downed his last shark, and reached for his House Tablet…_

_And then the fighting stopped. His foe looked ready to fall apart, and he himself was on his last legs. But, it seemed the victor was decided, as the Elemental spoke for the last time in a voice not quite it's own._

"'And to protect the Stone until such a time as, near to death, whereby you are relieved of all duties and shall henceforth be returned to your home plane with the gratitude and blessings of Guthix'"

_The Elemental slowly vanished upwards to parts unknown, it's job done at last. _

_Wincing at his wounds and bursting with curiosity over what had just transpired, Thorkur turned around once again to touch the stone._

_This time, he did._

_The world blurred before him. Images flashed before his eyes, a short trollish figure touched the Stone and became a human… a different human whose name he somehow knew touched the Stone and cheered. The Stone discovered by the Moonclan, then moved far away…_

_Normal sight returned to him and he staggered back from the Stone, his head and words filled with what he had just seen. As he composed himself, he noticed something else. His wounds were gone. In fact, they were beyond gone such that he now felt more healthy and full of energy than he thought possible. His sword could strike the smallest of targets with precision; his strength seemed able to move mountains, his very skin tough enough to withstand every pain, his intuition greater than any attack to him. He could throw a stone and knock down dragons flying overhead. He could control matter itself as though it was the lowest of magic…_

_This power! Amazing power!_

_Unfortunately, his actions would have dire consequences._

Back in his house, Thorkur rested Movario's notes on the arm of his chair. After defeating the Balance Elemental—as he'd come to understand it as—and having his powers increased far beyond even the mightiest adventurers, Movario and his partner Darve, whom he had deceived in order to investigate the cavern, entered the chamber and loudly proclaimed their discovery.

Though Movario declared the Stone to be his and his alone and the foolish Darve eagerly anticipated the thought of selling it for mere money, Lucien had appeared only to snatch the Stone for himself and summoned two demons who were immediately bound to a state of eternal and ultimate suffering. Their rage was tangible and caused the Guardians of Armadyl that had teleported to his location to give aid to quake in fear. Lucien merely laughed at the rage directed at him and forced them to attack Thorkur and his allies. The demons were by far the fiercest of their kind and had the ability to block attacks using prayers as humans did. Luckily, the immense power afforded to Thorkur by the Stone of Jas had allowed him to easily dispose of the demons and free them from their soul-crushing agony. Without the Stone's presence, however, the strength was short-lived and when all was said and done Thorkur returned to his allies in Falador as normal as before.

The combined organizations of the White Knights of Saradomin, Crux Eqal of Guthix, and the Guardians of Armadyl were now at a loss for what to do with the situation, for the Mahjarrat Lucien now possessed both the Staff of Armadyl and the Stone of Jas, the latter of which had enabled Guthix to shape the world and create the Rune Stones and the former of which had allowed Zamorak to banish Zaros and become a god.

His allies had known that the Staff was involved in the incident that caused Zamorak to ascend to godhood, but they hadn't known how it had happened. Thorkur, however, had learned of firsthand accounts from ancient ghosts that had been cursed by Zaros upon his banishment. Invisible, immobile, immortal and unable to communicate with the physical world, the ghosts told Thorkur, the only one they could with his Ring of Visibility and Ghostspeak Amulet, about how they had come to be cursed. After a long account of thievery and deception, Zamorak had acquired the fabled Staff of Armadyl, and with it's help the Mahjarrat plotted to destroy Zaros, who amassed a vast empire with many followers as the most powerful god. The two met and dueled, with the earth shaking and the heavens trembling, and though Zamorak was a fierce machine of war, his power could not match Zaros. In the most unfortunate of circumstances, Zamorak embedded the Staff into Zaros' back, who then fell upon him and impaled the Mahjarrat with it as well. Acting as a conduit, the holy Staff transferred some of the power of Zaros to Zamorak. Zaros began to fade from this world, while Zamorak seemed to become more real.

More god-like.

Now on equal power with the others, Zamorak began to gather followers to take over Gielinor. Thus began the Third Age, one totally of war. The God Wars.

Thorkur had never revealed this information to anyone else, not even his comrades in arms, for fear that it could somehow fall in to the wrong hands. He'd so far aided the few Zarosian Mahjarrat left to return their fallen god to this realm, and it seemed nearly complete, as he'd heard Zaros' voice communicating with Azzanadra with his own ears.

If Lucien was planning to become a god and unite the Mahjarrat to usurp Zamorak's leadership as he himself had to Zaros, did he know this information? If using the Staff of Armadyl to become a god required the power of an existing god, then hopefully the Edicts of Guthix would prevent that scenario from reoccurring. Or would the Stone of Jas allow for ascension without that? Furthermore, the Edicts of Guthix seemed to only apply to gods whom had been directly involved in the God Wars. At the time, this had meant most of the gods, but Thorkur had witnessed power from gods before, implying that the laws of Guthix did not restrict the Desert Pantheon and Zaros himself. If Lucien became a god, he, too may be unrestrained in his desires of power and destruction.

The Mahjarrat themselves further added to the complications. A race of extremely powerful and immortal shape shifters from the hellish realm of Frenskrae, they'd originally been united by Azzanadra under Zaros until the afore-mentioned incident, when most of the Mahjarrat shifted their allegiance to Zamorak, the one who could provide them with pleasurable battle. As information on Zaros was still incomplete, Thorkur remained unsure of his ideals. The fact that the Mahjarrat had been under him and his actions before the War, it at first appeared that Zaros was an evil god. Yet, sources all over spoke of the ancient Zarosian empire, which had stretched from the tip of the wilderness to the southern reaches of the desert and all the way into Morytania, as the most prosperous and peaceful in history. Even if the god was of questionable morals, did that really speak for such a society? The Mahjarrat he'd met who were still under Zaros certainly seemed much nicer than their Zamorakian brothers, if that was any indication.

As such, Thorkur had allied himself with the remaining Mahjarrat in the Zarosian sect and helped them in his resurrection, a gamble which would soon pay off, one way or the other. He desperately hoped his efforts weren't in vain, that there was a chance for the world to improve and to aid in the balance under Guthix. He hoped that his actions combined with those of Lucien did not spark a new war between gods to ravage the realm, for if Zaros was as powerful as the stories said and malevolent as was possible Guthix may not have the strength to stop him like he did the others. And Lucien was still a wildcard in this scenario. A god who possessed the Staff and the Stone and cared for nothing but the ways of evil? It could end up as the worst threat Gielinor had ever faced. Maybe Guthix or even Zaros could stop him. No mortal had the power now.

But, the Mahjarrat still had one weakness. Every five hundred years a Mahjarrat's power would grow weak and thus a ritual was held far up north to replenish their strength under the syzygy that would manifest. The ritual was a destructive battle, which ended when a Mahjarrat, usually the weakest, was sacrificed and its energy absorbed by the others based on who was closest to the center of the site. Thus was how their species survived the ages. Mahjarrat politics essentially revolved around this ritual, often deciding who would be sacrificed and who would receive the most power. Deceit and treachery reigned in the years before the ritual as they sought out only their own interests.

Thorkur got up to stoke the fire before returning Movario's Notes to the bookshelf and pulling out those of Zemouregal, the cousin of Lucien. These notes gave individual descriptions of each Mahjarrat as well as provided dates for the past rituals. Many Mahjarrat lived still and it would be a long time before the last one fell at the hands of the ritual, yet it would hopefully happen one day, as Enakhra, the only female Mahjarrat left, seemed too obsessed with Zamorak to—as Zemouregal put it—"sire more of our race".

He flipped through the notes, alphabetized for every Mahjarrat who had ever arrived to Gielinor, and took note of which ones were the most significant to both sides of the coming conflict.

Jhallan, one of the weaker Zarosian Mahjarrat who Thorkur had freed from an icy prison and escorted to an area underneath the ritual site where he hoped to secretly receive a large portion of power. He was currently so weak he probably wouldn't be of consequence until after the next ritual, but he had been benign enough and may be helpful later.

Azzanadra, former leader of the Mahjarrat who'd been sealed in an ancient pyramid during the purge of everything Zarosian. Thorkur had worked hard to free him and in exchange he'd taught him powerful, ancient battle spells. More recently, Thorkur had helped him establish contact with Zaros to aid his return, granting Thorkur use of the Zarosian curses, which were more powerful than normal prayers but required greater amounts of piety. Azzanadra was helpful, powerful and completely devoted to Zaros, he'd likely be Thorkur's most important ally.

Sliske, "the serpent tongued", was still largely unknown to him. Even the other Mahjarrat seemed to be unaware of his allegiances or intent, only that he was powerful and ruled over the shadows. When Thorkur was helping Azzanadra restore the Senntisten temple, the odd old man he'd seen over the crypts of the Barrows Brothers had more or less revealed himself as Sliske. He'd previously only said nonsense, perhaps maintaining the façade for hundreds of years, but he greeted Thorkur and gave him information on what he'd needed for the temple before returning to his disguise, saying it was not safe to talk openly for long. After further research Thorkur had concluded that Sliske had been the "shadowy figure" that'd reanimated the spirits of the six brothers. He would most certainly be important in the future, though exactly how Thorkur did not know. He seemed to support Zaros, at least.

Zemouregal, the cousin of Lucien and the formidable Mahjarrat who many times had lain siege to Varrock and had bound the hero Arrav to be his undead slave. After retrieving Arrav's heart from Zemouregal's fortress and stopping Varrock's latest zombie invasion Thorkur hoped to have made great progress in hindering his plans. Perhaps most importantly, Zemouregal seemed to underestimate Lucien. In the conversation Thorkur had overheard, Zemouregal's servant mentioned that Lucien may be close to finding "it" (which Thorkur now believed was the Stone of Jas), and the Mahjarrat had scoffed and replied, "I've no time for objects of fairytales". But Lucien had indeed found the Stone, and now Zemouregal was unknowingly at his mercy. Hopefully that of Lucien would now undermine the threat Zemouregal posed.

And then there was Lucien himself. Weak in sword but strong in spell, Thorkur now had a very personal vendetta against him. People who had been the mightiest of heroes, the wisest of teachers and the best of friends had dropped like flies before Lucien. Though he possessed two artifacts of the gods, Thorkur had vowed to stop him, and put an end to Lucien's madness in any way possible. If that meant risking a new God Wars, he would do it for the chance of avenging his comrades and restoring the balance of the world. Images of the statues in Falador's park flashed through his mind.

"_Turael… Duradel… Hazelmere… Sloane… Ghommal… Cyrisus…"_ He closed his eyes to the flames flickering in the grate which reminded him so much of Lucien's evil spells.

"_Lucien will not be allowed to escape with his deeds. Your deaths will not have been in vain. I'm still alive. I can make a difference."_

Pushing his mind away from these macabre thoughts, Thorkur contemplated the last, and perhaps most mysterious Mahjarrat on his mental list of importants.

Bilrach could prove an even greater wild card than Lucien. Like Lucien, Zemouregal underestimated him, believing Bilrach to hold no importance whatsoever, except that he was "Zamorak's lapdog". But not so long ago, Thorkur, along with everyone else at the time, had suddenly and randomly been affected by a strange power. In confusion, Thorkur went to the various seers that dotted the lands. None could say what the power was, only that it was "great" and "dark" and originated in a northern area near the Wilderness. Not long after, a group of Fremmeniks went to investigate, at the head of which were Marmaros and Thok. They'd discovered the most intriguing and dangerous of things, a mountain which housed strange dungeons. Abandoned, infested with beasts from other worlds, and tainted and warped with dark power of unknown origin, the party had traversed the lairs, experienced its harshness, and christened it "Daemonheim". Of the party, only Marmaros and Thok made it to the bottom. Now Thok was the sole master of "dungeoneering" and Marmaros seemed so mentally scarred that he could barely interact with people. Thorkur and many, many other adventurers had answered the call and slowly began to make their way through the many floors. Scattered about were chronicles and journals detailing the labyrinth's history, and the implications proved disturbing. The Mahjarrat Bilrach had, in ages past, discovered the site to contain a dark void buried deep underground, and had made extensive efforts to tunnel his way down, summoning demons and creatures and indenturing humans to work under him. Ages and ages he dug deeper, intending to unleash Zamorak from his imprisonment below in what he referred to as The Void. His efforts were incredibly large scale, but he'd kept them secret from the other Mahjarrat. More experienced adventurers had told him of the insanity of the lower floors, and of the growing disturbance of Bilrach's writings. The first entry was dated to the Second Age, while the last was dated to only about four years ago. They implied that Bilrach had made it to the bottom, but after that the trail went dry. Bilrach was nowhere to be found, it was unknown what happened to him, what he may have unleashed, and what exactly was at the end of the dungeons. Marmaros and Thok spoke of how they'd found a rotting corpse at the bottom floor and a mysterious old man who said it was an illusion and that they'd die if they saw what was really there.

This confusion of the situation left Thorkur lost as to where Bilrach's place in all of this was. Could Zamorak really be freed? How would this impact the other Mahjarrat and the next ritual? Would Zamorak really tolerate an attempt to usurp his power?

Thorkur sat back and yawned tiredly. The fire had nearly died out and he was overdue for bed.

"_If I may, my lord,"_ Alathazdrar said from behind his chair, _"your fallen brethren would likely appreciate that you get your rest if you are ever to make efforts against Lucien."_

Thorkur would acknowledge his butler's words and turn in for the night, but first…

"Alathazdrar, you may have more knowledge in this area than I, what do you think would be the reaction of Zamorak's followers if their god was overthrown?" The demon shook his head.

"_As Zamorak is the god of chaos, it is nearly impossible to tell. The most likely scenario would be that the worshipers would follow any who adhered to the ways of chaos."_

"So all we know is they'll almost certainly be against us. Perfect. The Saradomin followers may also decide to smite any evil fiends they perceive in the name of order. They'll be easy to predict, at least."

Alathazdrar took Zemouregal's notes from the side of the chair and returned them to the bookshelf.

"_I would advise that you keep your wits about you. The climax of these events is nearly upon us, and your actions may decide who will inherit Gielinor."_

"Of course, Alathazdrar." Thorkur stood up. "You are dismissed for the night." Alathazdrar bowed, and teleported to his quarters.

He walked through his study over to the bedroom with his four-poster. For now, tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that would consist of more mining.

"_The peaceful times of the Fifth Age are becoming turbulent, like days long past. We are all about to arrive at the crossroads of destiny. But whom will the times choose? Will chaos and despair rule the world, or is there a ray of hope in our future?"_

Soon Lucien would make his move to rally the Mahjarrat under him. Soon Sliske would emerge from the shadows, and soon Zemouregal would learn of just how little impact his actions now had, for soon the northern reaches of Ghorrock would bear witness to the ritual.

The Ritual of the Mahjarrat.


	2. What Lies Ahead?

So, this was originally going to be a one-shot, but by popular demand and with all of the juicy details that have come out I've decided to continue. This is intended to be right before _The World Wakes_, which I believe will happen tomorrow, at time of writing. There will likely be a third part afterwards, or perhaps further down the line, I've yet to decide.

Disclaimer: I do not own the base contents of this story. RuneScape, its aspects, and associated trademarks are property of Jagex ltd. The player character here is my own, however.

****Warning**, this story will contain big spoilers for various quests and aspects of the game, especially Ritual of the Mahjarrat, as well as the lore of Daemonheim. If you have not completed or read about these things and do not wish to be spoiled ROTTEN stop now.**

With that being said, on with the show!

* * *

Chapter 2: What Lies Ahead?

A prison of ice floated silently along the darkened path. Magic glowed softly around it, adding to the flickering of the torches along the walls. This creature enjoyed the icy cold of this northern region, and liked picking up the shiny things that had littered the snow. Life had been good since that skeleton lifted them from their realm, though they didn't know why he'd instructed to bring the boots of their kind along. Said that they "might be useful for him". Oh well, he seemed to be dead now, killed through fire, one had seen. Were it not made of ice, the creature would have shivered at the thought, for their kind did not like fire, although most fire could do little to them. The skeleton-man could no longer force them to fight for him or send them places where fire was. Hopefully the tiny flames lining the walls were the extent of the fire around here.

But suddenly, the creature's world was nothing _but_ fire. Tremendous fire, searing fire, melting _fire._ The creature could feel part of its cage melting, and then the fire stopped. The creature turned, not without agony, to a flesh-creature pointing a staff at it. Immediately, the creature understood: this flesh-creature was responsible for that horrible fire. The creature did not want to feel fire, and concluded that it must make the flesh-creature lose its red liquid. It raised its arms and sent forth a shower of icicles. The flesh-creature sidestepped them as stalagmites rose from the snow next to it, and sent another forceful surge of agonizing fire at it. The creature tried to move out of the way, but it could not move very fast and was buffeted by the spell. The creature grew more afraid, and raised one of its arms to fire a single spike of ice at the flesh-creature. This one would be too fast to avoid, thought the creature hopefully.

To its horror, the spike bounced off of the flesh-creature, repelled by some invisible force. As it endured more fire, the creature frantically shot more spokes at the flesh-creature, but they continued to be repelled. Trembling from the heat, the creature thought that instead of red liquid it could turn the flesh-creature black with magical ice burns. It raised its opposite arm and a glowing sphere of the coldest magic moved towards the flesh-creature, but once again, the flesh-creature proved too much, and muttered something before swiping the sphere aside, exploding it into a shower of sparks. The staff rained fire. Despairing, the creature turned to its children, desperate to keep them from harm. The children then intoned that they would instead fight as well, in hoped of prevailing, though the creature intoned them not to, and three smaller bodies of ice sidled toward the flesh-creature. The fire stopped then, only to continue upon the creatures' poor children. The first born, given the ability to spy on gods by the skeleton-man, was the first to die, without ever being able to demonstrate its amazing talent. Wishing to avenge its sibling, the more rambunctious middle child skittered towards the flesh-ling and released a massive blast, but the flesh-creature jumped back and denied its vengeance with a short burst of flame. All the while, the parent creature continually attempted to impale, blast and freeze the flesh-creature to no avail. It moved further back, leading the youngest child away. Finally, the parent felt the pain of its loss, and the child—whom should have lived the longest among the children—perished in lonely flame. Wanting to cry out, the creature returned the remainder of its child's essence to itself. If there could be no victory, then it would fight forever. And forever it was, until the creature's magic flowed no more, and it shattered to its crystals, cursing the skeleton-man whom had brought them to this, and cursing the flesh-creature who stood in triumph with nary a slight.

With the last flame withered unto the icy remains, Thorkur sighed and lowered his staff. His mental tally showed 362 Glacors defeated. He walked up and rummaged through the remains, never aware of those 362 who could now only imagine the fire. He discovered another shard of the staff he'd been searching for, but still none of the rumored boots from another realm. He pocketed the shard, and walked through the circle of mushrooms to the north to depart for Zanaris. As his being came into view, he began towards the bespectacled fairies, he became face-to-face with a set of four or five heads upon a great purple body.

"Where are you going? Can we come too?" the heads chorused. Thorkur jostled, his robes clinking ominously.

"No, now leave me be!" he bellowed, and continued to the bank, while the heads looked disappointed. He ordered the poor fairy to take his bag and hand him a teleportation tablet. With nay a spot of gratitude to the banker, he crushed the tablet and left.

At home, Thorkur stood for a moment, and sighed. Althazdrar came to him, motioning for his staff, but Thorkur waved him off.

"Not yet, Althazdrar, I still don't feel better, so I'll head back out in a moment."

Althazdrar appeared to frown.

_"Demonic though I may be, master, I might still say you are taking this a bit too far. It doesn't seem to be working," _he chastised. Thorkur turned away, sadness in his eyes.

"Perhaps you're right… perhaps it's time I went and took care of some of these loose ends." He pondered a moment, and then turned through the portal directly outside, his golden and black Skillcape of Mastery of Smithing swishing to follow, intent on having a drink and perhaps a spar with Koschei. Althazdrar silently bowed and left on his own business. Perhaps he could use his own resources to assist in the crisis.

A short time later, Thorkur stood under Rellekka, appearing vary cautious as Enakhra and Akthanakos phased off somewhere.

"So… Karshai, then. I think somehow, I always knew. Your past was always peculiar, and Zemouregal's notes mentioned you still lived somewhere. It seemed to fit," Thorkur spoke warily. Koschei the Deathless—now the mahjarrat, Karshai—nodded in agreement.

"Yes indeed, perhaps our paths were destined to cross as they did, brother Thorkur, for I believe you will have much to do in this realm in the future." Thorkur relaxed somewhat at his words.

"Then, what will you do now? The Ritual is over."

"Living as I have this length of time and remembering my past has given me new inspiration. I have concluded that our race—once proud and prolific—will be no more after a few millennia if this fighting amongst us continues. Though I called myself a barbarian for a time, it is they who are the true barbarians. They feel no kinship with each other, and despite this the thought of the continuation of the Ritual makes me… melancholy," Karshai returned.

Thorkur replaced his staff, relieved that there would finally be another to shoulder the burden he now carried.

"But how will you do this? They cannot be reasoned with, as the Ritual restores their power. And their two gods are far removed. Though Lucien is dead, it was not without cost of others. Is that not the fate of the mahjarrat?" Thorkur spoke.

"You speak hard, but take note my friend, I have learned of things beyond war during my time as a human, even from the most warlike among you. Because of this, I remain in my true form despite not having participated in the Ritual for millennia. Because I have not used any of my true power, living without memory as I have, my strength has not decreased. I believe there may be mahjarrat who would be interested in this; as such a thing as not using our power has not happened before, to my knowledge. Particularly among the Zarosian mahjarrat." Thorkur shook his head.

"But how will your race continue? All things must face death, no matter how long it takes, and the only woman of your race remaining will surely never find any sort of redemption. She does not wish it; she does not even value her own life in favor of Zamorak, much less the lives of others. She would never seek to rejuvenate the race, as you just saw."

Karshai nodded and became grim.

"Yes, I myself may not be enough. Without the ability to birth more mahjarrat we shall someday perish, leaving behind no past worth revering. I think in order to do anything for Enahkra, Zamorak must be defeated, or betray her somehow. Which he would, if he needed to. But there cannot be in fighting between the Zarosian and Zamorakian mahjarrat. I will have to remain carefully neutral if I am to accomplish anything."

"I am on good terms with the Zarosian mahjarrat, however I will not reveal your intentions to them if you wish it," Thorkur replied.

"I thank you for that. I do not trust them nearly as much as you, but I do think they are our best chance. Remain wary of their intentions. I will remain here for now with my true brethren. Inform the chief of my situation, use your own judgment in what you reveal."

"Being a mortal, I suppose there's not much I can do in all this…" Thorkur sadly turned to leave.

"Do not fear, for you are the most remarkable being I have known, and there is much to be done," Karshai rumbled, "and so you shall, bold human, so you shall."

* * *

Thorkur stumbled blearily across the Ghorrock Plateau, the cold bit him through his mail, but he welcomed the numbness. It brought him relief as flashes of the hellish war he'd fought here rent him. How long had he fought? How much power had he then, and how much power had his foes to bring about such destruction upon the land? Scars of the battle had faded under permafrost, while the Ritual Marker remained as it had for centuries, impeccably taunting him.

Trudging through the deep snow, Thorkur let tears freeze from his eyes as he made his way to the Ritual Marker. So much had happened here, so much death it had seen. So much death _he_ had seen…

"RAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Thorkur cried out in fury and sorrow as he forcefully sent a bolt of lighting down from the heavens to strike the evil marker. Nothing was right! His friends shouldn't have died, he shouldn't have been left with his back pressed against the weight of the world, there shouldn't be immortals constantly _playing_ with him—

Thunder boomed and lightning crackled around the Ritual Marker. Piercing winds began to swirl around it as he fed more power to the Divine Storm of Armadyl, channeling all of his magic and emotions to submit before the gods who decided to mock his life so. Thorkur raised the pale copy of the Staff of Armadyl to the cold skies.

"Do those above doubt my power!? Does Guthix!? Why am _I_ the only one still alive!? Why am _I _the only one to keep these secrets!? Am I being raised like cattle to the slaughter!? THEN DO SO! SMITE ME, YE GODS, MIGHTIEST OF BEINGS!"

The Marker stood strong under his wrath, and with a flash, it seized Thorkur from the realm.

He flew along as faces swam before him in a flurry. Mahjarrat waged war upon each other here with far greater numbers and considerable might, and then armies filled his vision as fire and ice rained from the skies. Thorkur saw Nex, flying down in the blink of an eye to wipe out entire battalions with one fell swoop. On the barren ice world, ghosts of men and women of all races drifted along, crying out in pain, while nothing but a splash of blood stood upon the Marker. These ghosts must all of died here at the whims of these higher beings, their voices filled him and compelled him, until one of them began to call his name.

_Thorkur…_

_What is wrong, Thorkur?_

Thorkur gasped as he returned to reality. The Marker stood before him, as innocently and terribly as before and centuries before then.

"Are you awake, Thorkur?" Kneeling in the snow, Thorkur turned to face the one who spoke.

"Arrav…" He wiped his eyes.

"What's wrong, you look weak, Arrav," Thorkur said, attempting to reach out to his friend, finally freed from Zemouregal's thrall.

"My body…" he groaned, "without Zemouregal's magic to preserve it, it will soon crumble to dust." Thorkur agonized, unwilling to lose another friend.

"Is there nothing I can do to save you?" Thorkur cried out.

"You have already saved me, my friend," Arrav said softly, "I should have died long ago, but my mind was imprisoned in this lifeless husk. Now my torment is over. What of Zemouregal?"

"He still lives, rejuvenated by the ritual," Thorkur snarled.

"Avarrocka! The shield! You must…"

"Varrock is safe, remember? Zemouregal's last attack failed." Arrav shook his helmeted head.

"I… my mind… it is hazy…"

"A man named Dimintheis wields your shield proudly. While his bloodline stays strong, so too shall Varrock." Arrav lifted himself.

"Ah, that is good… but Zemouregal will not give up."

"And neither shall we, Arrav."

There was silence.

"Arrav?"

"…"

And Arrav fell, the last of his spirit spent, while the wind carried him away. Thorkur prostrated himself.

"Rest well, hero of Varrock."

* * *

Thorkur awoke late the next day. He'd spent a long time lost in thoughts by the fire upon returning from Ghorrock Plateau the previous night, and drifted off in his chair. Althazdrar must have teleported him to his bed after that. He ate a swift lunch and left house again, for there were still places he needed to go. He'd decided that he must press on, for the sake of Gielinor, regardless of what would happen to himself or his being.

He made for the nearest fairy ring as he exited the teleportation matrix. He walked leisurely to the Zanaris Bank and politely asked the fairy for his enchanted water tiara and a ring of slayer. This time the fairy returned his smile as he rubbed the ring and left.

"Well, Thorkur, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Sumona smirked at him, "you never come see me for assignments anymore, after all." Thorkur reached out to shake her hand, something it had taken awhile to get her to do. She had a very firm grip, as always. Perhaps she didn't know her own strength compared to humans. Oh yes, he was quite aware she was really Amascut, the Goddess of Destruction of the desert pantheon, even if she refused to admit it.

"I have business over in Nardah, actually, so I'm just passing through," Thorkur smiled. He'd come to respect her as a Slayer Master the past several years, even if it was just a convenient disguise while she plotted his death. Still, she seemed awfully quiet in that regard. He would have never thought she would spend so much time among humans if she wanted to destroy. Perhaps, he secretly hoped, the mask was no longer a mask.

"I'd gathered as much. I see you have an assignment of waterfiends from Kuradal. Does that bitch give you too hard of assignments? You could always come back to me for them," she sneered somewhat.

"Be nice to her, she's the most powerful and… _destructive_ human that I know. And sorry, but she's the one I need right now," Thorkur said as Sumona handed him a cup of iced tea. She snorted in reply. "And besides, I'd like to talk to her about something later regarding the death of her father."

"Duradal was killed?" Sumona said sharply, "how? He would not have fallen so easily." Thorkur paused, wondering if he should tell her for a moment.

"Lapalok has taken his place as Slayer Master." Sumona narrowed her crimson eyes.

"Good to know, but don't avoid the question." Thorkur swirled his tea quietly.

"…It was Lucien, the mahjarrat. Him and five others, including Turael were killed. Statues of their likeness reside in Falador park now." Sumona's eyes went wide this time. She was silent, and seemed angry and… afraid?

"…_Mahjarrat," _she spat.

"I was present during the battle, and not long after at their Ritual of Rejuvenation. Lucien was killed there. By Dragonkin."

"Wha—_Dragonkin?" _

"Yes, Dragonkin." Sumona placed her hand to her face and turned from him. What was she feeling right now? What did she know of the Dragonkin?

"Their kind has not been seen since time immemorial. Only myths remain. I know little of them," she answered when he voiced this thought. He placed his hand on her shoulder, making her flinch.

"Sumona, the mahjarrat are rejuvenated and plotting. The Dragonkin have sought me out, as a user of the Stone of Jas. They gave me a vision of the destruction of this realm. '_Return to reality and await your fate,'_ they told me. Forces are mustering in the world, Sumona!"

She averted her eyes.

"But… why are you telling _me_ this? What do I care if the world is destroyed?"

"I _know_ you. I know how you feel about the mahjarrat. How they destroyed everything in their path. I think you care more than you let on." She bared her teeth at him, revealing pronounced canines.

"_Know_ me? You don't know _anything_ about me, or what the… the _mahjarrat_ have done!"

"But I _do_, Sumona!" He looked her in the eye, which widened again as her fangs retreated.

"You…"

"I can't do this, Sumona… I can't face these forces alone. I've been subjected to the musings of higher beings for so long. _You_ know what I mean. I'm saying I need your help, now!"

"But I… you…"

"Your hatred needs to be pushed aside, for the sake of Gielinor! I know what I'm asking of you and maybe a mortal like me can't tell you what to do, but I know there's more to you than this, that you once _cared_ a great deal."

"…" She did not speak. Contemplating his words. Their tea lay warm and forgotten on the table. Thorkur closed his eyes and turned to the doorway.

"As I said, I must go to Nardah. I have an ally in all this there, and I must confer with him. If you want to know more about all this, please come with me." She looked away for a moment. Then slowly nodded.

They walked silently across the sands. The heat did not seem to bother her as it did him, but then, she was a goddess after all. Once in Nardah, Thorkur stopped outside the home of Ali the Wise and turned back to Sumona.

"Now, promise me you won't do anything… rash when you meet him."

"…Why?" she said suspiciously.

"Consider it proof of your intentions, whatever they may be."

"You realize that asking me this is enormous risk to you and your little plans."

"Yes, and I am taking that risk. So promise me," he stared at her intently.

"Fine, fine," she motioned flippantly. He nodded, and entered the door. The elderly but spry man inside welcomed them inside.

"Thorkur, I've been expecting you for a time now since the Ritual. And this must be 'Sumona'. Thorkur has informed me of you."

"You remember what I told you at the Ritual? I think it's time," Thorkur said to Ali the Wise.

"I see… I'm not sure I agree with you on this, but I admit the situation is dire…"

"What? What do you mean?" Sumona interrupted, but Ali the Wise slowly crossed his arms. He faded for a moment, until in his place stood a taller man, once a skeleton now flesh, eyes glowing in power. Sumona shrieked in fury.

"MAHJARRAT!" She fisted her hands at her sides as her eyes began to shine. They could hear whirlwinds picking up outside the house. Sumona's dress began to billow around her. Wahisietel made to defend himself, but Thorkur came behind Sumona and grabbed her waist and neck, knowing that if she truly didn't care, he could do nothing to stop her.

"Stop, Sumona! He's with me! He will help!"

"Are you a fool, Thorkur!? He's a _filthy mahjarrat! _He cares about _nothing!_"

"No! He's not like Lucien and Zemouregal and Zamorak! Not all of the mahjarrat are like them! You promised, Sumona, please!"

Slowly, the winds of power died, but her eyes remained bright in hatred.

"Explain," she threatened. Thorkur carefully removed his arms.

"Alright then, Wahisietel," he said. The mahjarrat shook his head.

"You are the craziest human I've ever met, Thorkur. Fine, then." Thorkur sat in a chair as he and Wahisietel began about the escalating situation on Gielinor.

* * *

"These Dragonkin… how can they be so strong? Lucien wasn't completely lying when he called himself a god…" Sumona, now calm, murmured.

"It seems to be related to the Stone. They appeared impervious to Lucien because he used it excessively," Wahisietel said, still carefully keeping his distance and guard up.

"We hid the Stone after that. We could not use it against them without being tempted by its power. They would destroy us," Thorkur replied from his seat. Sumona walked over and sat in the chair next to him, also keeping her distance from the mahjarrat. She would kill him at a moment's notice if he did anything, but for now she'd decided she would have to tolerate him.

"A pity," she said wistfully, "so much power…"

"And that is why we must keep it hidden," Thorkur said sharply to her.

"So they will begin in Edgeville you say? This 'vision' you had of Draynor interests me," Wahisietel said thoughtfully. Thorkur nodded.

"Yes, Edgeville has already been devastated, actually. And I have seen what happens to realms that they take their fury out upon."

"Kethsi, you mean," Wahisietel agreed, "I may visit there myself to see what I can learn."

"On another note, I have some new information for you Wahisietel since the Ritual."

"Oh?" Thorkur nodded.

"Lucien has a daughter."

There was silence for a moment.

"Well…" Wahisietel began, "that is certainly… unexpected."

"She's only half mahjarrat, probably with human, though I have no idea who her mother was. Her name is Moia. It seems that among you only Zemouregal knew about her. When I first met Lucien he mentioned a daughter, but it seemed so off-hand… I never thought he'd been serious."

"What do you know about her?"

"Well, before I say, I need to explain about something else, something big and mysterious. It's about Bilrach."

"He was not present at the Ritual, did you discover why that is?"

"It began with something that I want you to resolve for me. A time ago, a strange power was felt on the land by many adventurers, mages and seers." Wahisietel inclined his head.

"It seems you are referring to the energy released by the death of a mahjarrat."

"So it's true… I thought I'd felt the same thing at the Ritual… then, Bilrach must be dead. But his work remains."

"Don't leave me out of this," Sumona said vehemently, "what do you mean? I scarcely see you so troubled."

"Ah, well… there's this place known to my kin as 'Daemonheim'…"

A short time later, Wahisietel had prepared some food for his guests, mainly for the sake of the mortal in the room, who had finished his explanation.

"Bilrach has fooled us all, then… this situation may be unprecedented." Thorkur nodded.

"Karshai agrees with me."

"Karshai?"

"Ah, right, I forgot to mention that Karshai is now alive and accounted for."

"Indeed? And how is he?"

"He's at full strength despite not having been in at the Ritual. It's a bit of a long story, but he's been spending time living as a human. He's formed kinship with them, and no longer follows any god. I am confident he can help with whatever lies ahead."

"Interesting. These two situations may be related. You say symbols of the Dragonkin appeared there?"

"Yes, and not just there either. Their influence must have truly been vast."

"I will have to do some investigating at Daemonheim. In the meantime, all we can do is wait for something to happen." Wahisietel stood as Thorkur finished his meal.

"Yes," Thorkur said, "I can only continue adventuring, as I always have, until a crisis forms." Sumona stood as well, sensing the meeting was over, which she was glad for.

"Above all, Thorkur, do not forget your own history. This is not the first time a mahjarrat has misused the Stone of Jas; the Dragonkin have been here before. And yet life goes on…" Wahisietel mused. Thorkur thanked him.

"Then you will go see Kuradal now?" Sumona said quietly.

"Yes. I must discuss the vision I saw with her, and inform her of Lucien's death."

Wahisietel reverted to his disguise as Ali the Wise as they made their way outside.

"Farewell, Thorkur, I will let… Dr. Nabanik know of these developments." Thorkur nodded as Ali the Wise returned to his home. He turned to Sumona, who still looked unsure.

"You've heard it a lot by now, but you are a strange human," she said, subtly acknowledging her identity. Perhaps she was not yet ready to discuss it.

"I don't know if I can promise what you want of me. I can't stop my hatred of those mahjarrat, even if you're friendly with a few of them."

"I trust you, Sumona," Thorkur said simply. She said nothing, and turned away and vanished back to her home.

* * *

"What are you doing here? Go back down those stairs and slay some waterfiends!"

Well, Kuradal was in a mood… Thorkur grew a little nervous, as she was quite intimidating.

"Ah, you see…"

"Spit it out!"

"Lucien is dead."

"…Yes, I know. I saw his corpse up at the ritual site." Thorkur was surprised, and somewhat relieved.

"What? You were there? But I didn't see you." Kuradal seemed a bit less irate now.

"Nor I you, but I was there, fighting off mahjarrat and their minions. None of them were Lucien, though." Her expression fluctuated again. Perhaps the situation had her a bit unstable.

"I chased one of them into a cave full of ice elementals called glacors. After killing a couple hundred of those, I managed to escape, but by then it was all over: everyone had gone." Thorkur decided to tread carefully.

"You seem angry. I'd have thought you'd be glad he's dead."

"I am, but Lucien was my kill! Mine alone! No one had the right to take that from me! No one!" she raged, but faltered.

"…How will I honor my father's memory?"

"You honor him every day." Kuradal raised an eyebrow.

"Bah! Any more of that touchy-feely nonsense and I'll be forced to revoke your slayer license…" He looked appalled.

"But yo-"

"Hahaha! The look on your face! That cheered me up some. Thanks, Thorkur." He rolled his eyes.

"Okay fine, how about you help defeat what killed Lucien?"

"Which was what, exactly?" she said expectantly.

"A Dragonkin. Three of them, in fact."

"Hmm, now that sounds like a challenge worthy of a slayer master… I've got some preparations to make. Collecting those for a dungeon could be tricky…" Thorkur blanched.

"Collecting them? You're crazy!"

"Ha! Your face again!"

"…"

"…Who says I'm joking?"

"…Okay, crazy lady, I'm going back to the waterfiends."

"Yeah you'd better!"

* * *

The sun was setting by the time he finished off the waterfiends. He stepped through to Ardougne for a bite of food before returning home. He sat in a field, eating some cake for dessert. Off in the distance he saw something which compelled him, and and got up and left.

"Attention! Legends' Guild member approaching!" The guards saluted him as he passed the mithril gate. Thorkur walked past the busts of great people and pushed open the doors.

"Hello, Thorkur, by complete coincidence there's a gathering of members upstairs. It's good that you happened to drop by," Radimus greeted him. As usual, the bearded man seemed occupied.

"Really? Well, I suppose I'll go see what everyone is up to…"

"Hey, Thorkur!" Ozan ran up to him, brandishing his ukulele, "How are you doing, my friend? Come, come, we've got the finest ale this side of Kandarin upstairs!"

"Oh, if I must, Ozan the Insufferable…" Thorkur mumbled good-naturedly as he allowed the dashing rogue to escort him upstairs.

"Thorkur! You've forgotten to clean your sword!" called Sir Owen. Thorkur laughed nervously, remembering Sir Tiffy's fate in his vision as he wiped down Korasi's revered blade.

"Hey, Thorkur, I wanted to ask you for your opinion on a teleportation device I've been working on," Ariane ran over to him and shoved some strange contraption in his face, her eyes popping in excitement.

"Alright, alright no need to be pushy Ariane…"

The gathering turned out to be more of a random celebration, really. The full moon had long since risen as he spent time with his guildmates, whom had long been comrades. Over the years, though, they'd mostly just conversed over their adventures. Eventually, even the reclusive Linza and unsociable Raptor had appeared. Drink in hand, Thorkur went over by himself to examine the bow cabinet.

"Why the long face, Thorkur?" Xenia spoke from the corner.

"I'm wearing a helmet, Xenia," he replied through his dragon full helm. She waved him aside.

"Doesn't take a lunar mage to read your heavy shoulders, Thorkur," she said gently, "so out with it."

He looked around and noticed the rest of the guild eyeing him as well.

"Well, I… there's a lot that has happened in Gielinor over the years, and… a lot more is coming. There's a lot of information about the world that I've never shared with any of you." He swallowed hard.

"Not because I don't trust any of you, but, well, when I left Lumbridge all those years ago, I never thought I'd be the one to take it all. I never thought about what I might become. I just… never looked back until now. And I never thought I'd be here among you all. Most of you all began your adventures like I did, when I did, but you became so famous with your talents. Compared to that luminosity I feel… dim. So, why me?"

No one spoke for a moment, digesting his words.

"Hey now, what are you talking about?" Ariane demanded, "who was it that went to Lumbridge, ran straight up to the Duke, and demanded a quest?"

"Well— I was foolish, such actions should have gotten me tossed in prison—"

"And," she continued vividly, "who was it that revived the lost art of runecrafting as a result?"

"I was just a messenger boy, it was you who really—"

"It wasn't just then," Ozan interrupted, "who helped me save Al-Kharid? I was just a low-life then, without your help and trust when there was none then the whole desert would be in chaos."

"And a more exemplary White Knight and Temple Knight you'd be at a loss to find," Sir Owen said seriously, "without you, our organization would be far less than it is."

Thorkur looked frantically between everyone, trying to find ways to deny their words.

"Thorkur, you may not have realized it, but you've gone far beyond us all," Xenia said quietly. The elderly heroine walked to him and placed her hand on his armored shoulder.

"When you left me in Lumbridge, you were so unsure. It's been more than a decade since then. You have traveled further than any of us, done things we can only imagine, witnessed things that have been lost forever. You went over the hills, under mountains, and across the seas. You wandered through the deserts of sand and snow, and the black plains of the Wild. You possess expert knowledge and skill in every art imaginable. We look to you as the one who understands the most, the one who has seen the most, who seeks no reward for it. You are not a master of none; you are a master of all."

Thorkur could no longer find words.

"That's right!" Ariane piped up again, "you think so much of me, but think seriously of yourself! Your skills in magic, runecrafting, and summoning—each of them is close to mine! Why, I bet you could be an Archmage of the tower soon, if you wanted to."

"And a quicker mind and more dashing hero I cannot find!" Ozan boasted, "except me, perhaps," he added. Ariane and Sir Owen looked at him with exasperation.

"Your dedication to the good of the people and the realm is beyond compare," Sir Owen stated boldly and slammed his arm onto Thorkur's opposite shoulder, "I am proud to call you an equal, if not my superior."

"I may not look it, but I'm forever grateful to you for your help in my dream of becoming the greatest of all craftspeople," the normally silent Linza spoke to him from the sword case, "that cape you wear now is proof of the bond we have all forged together, and I'm sure you shall earn many more capes in the future, maybe even the one cape to rule them all."

Thorkur looked gratefully to Linza, fingering the trim on his cape. Everyone else turned to the Raptor who remained in the corner.

"…Well, you're a strong warrior, I guess. No, not guess, definitely. I await the day we may test our skills together with anticipation," he deadpanned.

"Everyone… thank you…"

All were silent as they looked proudly upon him.

"Esteemed heroes of the Legend's Guild!" one of the guards had run upstairs, panting.

"An explorer named Orlando Smith is outside," he wheezed, "he claims he has discovered something incredible just on the other side of the guild that all members should see!"

"Oh really? I've heard of him, let's see if his claim is as ridiculous as his others," Xenia walked towards the guard, "Well, Thorkur?" she called, "I believe this is your area of expertise, will you lead us?"

"It would be my honor," he nodded, as the rest of the guild began to clamber down the stairs.

"_Whatever it is, we'll face it together," _he thought with conviction.


	3. Stirrings of Fate

So guys, here's that third part I said I would make once upon a time. Thing is though, the time since then has given us further interesting things to discuss. Now I want to point out, for the sake of some sort of continuity concurrent with the game content we're assuming that the player character is from the town of Ashdale. We are also assuming that the events of the quest "A Shadow Over Ashdale" took place not long after the player character left to begin adventuring, given the various interactions and characters. We are also assuming, and we have done so in the past, that the player character in this story is based on my own, and as my total play time has reached nine years, we will be using this as the timeline for the story, and is in continuity with the previous chapters.

Moving on, I suspect that quest content in RuneScape still has a long way to go (I'd certainly like it if it did) and thus I want this story to evolve and become "a thing" that I continue periodically as things come out, until such that they reach their limit or my adventures in RuneScape come to an end.

This chapter again contains official writings and dialogue sequences used in-game, just so we're clear, and I appreciate Jagex's writing staff for their work with it, it's always very good and interesting. The dialogue was taken directly in-game from content I have personally completed.

And once again,

****Warning**, this story will contain big spoilers for various quests and aspects of the game, especially grandmaster quests, as well as the lore of Daemonheim. If you have not completed or read about these things and do not wish to be spoiled ROTTEN stop now.**

On with the show!

* * *

Chapter 3: Stirrings of Fate

**Year 169 of the Fifth Age, late winter**

Ashdale was well known for its full moon nights. Though the town had a reputation for ease and peace, a clear night on the full moon was the one thing that could draw visitors and the like from the mainland. Even some of other races would occasionally visit the area for that spectacular moonlit walk. It was considered an act of romance to treat your beloved to a stroll in the night, during the spring or summer.

Though tonight was clear of rain and the moon shown bright, in the depths of winter the opposite tended to be true, for it was at these times that the moon's eerie gaze would give tourists turn and bring couples bad luck, so it was said.

Sarah was a sensible, if often bored woman. She had never taken much stock into the whole "moon-flip atmosphere" as she often called it. But then, she'd never so much as been on a date before, Ashdale not offering much in local prospects, and rarely venturing out to the mainland. There hadn't been any real reason why she'd never left permanently, simply that this place was all she knew, that it held everyone she'd ever known, and that though it had never been exciting except on two occasions, she was happy here. On some days she might be willing to admit that the one thing that was holding her back was that she had no idea what she would do if she left. She liked people well enough, was never particularly bad at something, or too unhealthy to do whatever she wanted. Yet she didn't know how she would go about and meet someone, or become someone, or travel to a strange new place, or do anything besides sweep the front porch each day. Tonight was such a night where she might be able to admit these things, the only problem is no one ever asked her about them. Not in a place as boringly wholesome as Ashdale.

Perhaps that was the reason she was out walking alone on this bright winter night. She wore a thicker dress with long sleeves and boots, hands stuffed in some pockets she had, in her opinion, very tastefully sewed on. She wore nothing on her head, however, as Ashdale was a warm place that rarely got snow in the winter, usually just rain. Tonight had scarcely few clouds, making for a dry chill. Sarah was starting to wish she'd brought a hat (she refused to wear earmuffs even though there was no one around worth hiding them from, day or night) but could not bring herself to go fetch one from home.

Sarah came upon the Church of Saradomin, getting a rare chance to see the moon streaming through the high windows, the light settling around the altar and the pew she usually sat in each week, long since repaired from the rampaging witch. She thought idly what would happen if they held sermons on nights like this, but didn't think too hard on it. Attending the church and listening to the preaching's of the ways of Saradomin tended to be another boring thing she did on a regular basis, but had never been something she despised. It had simply never captivated her, although she knew some people thought differently and in the past had given her and Will no end of grief over Gudrik's more laid back musings of Guthix. She'd found them more interesting than the sermons at the church, but hadn't really taken an interest in them the way Will had. The ways of the gods had always seemed so abstract and far away to her, for they had not existed in thousands of years. The world had been such a bland and tasteless thing to her more limited experience, she could scarcely imagine the deeds and thunderings of the God Wars that she'd heard in a few stories from wandering preachers or researchers. No, the gods had never given Sarah much to concern herself with, it was just another thing she'd gone along with her whole life. What, she wondered, was the purpose of gods in the Fifth Age? She came out of her thoughts and noticed a strangely uncomfortable light on the Star of Saradomin, though refused to admit that the winter moon was the cause. She shivered from something other than the cold, and walked away.

After leaving the church Sarah passed by the cart where the dead cow had been so long ago. She only remembered the spot because the cleanup had been one more part of her chores that day, the same day that Will had left them. What a different day that had been. Even more different was when Will had come back to Ashdale about a year later after hearing the strange accounts of disappearances on the quiet island.

That time had been the first time she'd felt real fear.

A surge through her body, adrenaline making her shake, for once not knowing if she would live or die. It had been a terrifying time for the girl who'd otherwise lived in relative innocence, as had the rest of the island.

And then Will had come, sporting some heavy yet shoddy armour and a sword, his shoulders just a little broader. She giggled out loud at the memory—he'd probably made them himself. Yet with what he'd made at his own hands she, and Ashdale, had been saved, though with some uncommon additions to the local cemetery. It had taken time for the town to adjust to the events, and the gruesome deaths that had occurred remained in everyone's memory. Cursory post investigations into the mysteries of the island and the crab-like crassians fell into more uneventful laziness, and nothing had happened on the island since.

She began heading up the way to what had been Will's house. Sarah would periodically maintain the place lest it become dusty and infested and because she often had nothing else to do, but tonight it was the lasting memories that drove her to the strange home. Though Will was something of the town's pride and joy, Sarah was the only one who would bother to come and make sure his place and things were still in order. After all, he'd never had parents, and though everyone in town knew each other no one had been as close to Will as she'd been, having been best friends as kids. Though she often told herself that Will was out doing great things in the world and it was selfish of her to think so, she's always secretly wanted him to come home. She still clearly remembered the first time she'd seen him leave, covered in sickly muck and blood from haphazardly saving the town.

_"So what's next for the hero of Ashdale?" Sarah teased._

"_I'm going to the mainland." He smiled. Though she'd known what he would say, something in her, something unfamiliar, wrenched._

"_Oh, so you're leaving us? What a relief. Ah, you know I'm only joking. Truth is, I'll miss you. It won't be the same without you around." Will looked at her, his best friend, with something like reverence in his eyes._

"_What about you?"_

_"Some people are born for greatness, pumpkin head. The rest of us have to play the hand we're dealt. For you, the future lies over the sea, far from Ashdale. But I'll always be here if you want to come and visit."_

_She ignored the prickling in her eyes. This was how it should be. Will had never been like the rest of Ashdale. He understood too much, could _do_ too much. Perhaps that had been why they'd always gotten on so well, because she saw more than what this village had to offer in him, whereas he'd latched on to her at first as a sharp-witted companion and then as his only real friend. _

_He seemed to have trouble turning away from her now, having never before left home._

_"Goodbye."_

_"Bye for now."_

That had been eight years ago.

Now a woman of twenty-six, Sarah was well past the point where others would say she ought to think about her future. Yet after Will had left, it seemed like life had nothing to offer her. Sarah's boots clumped on the pavement as she walked up the so familiar hill to the cliff where Will's house remained unchanged, and every time she went up here she could not help but imagine him there outside the door waiting for her like when they were kids. So used was she to the image of the house that when she noticed the door was ajar, she startled.

She looked around, as though expecting to see someone in the night, yet she knew that no one would be out and about at this hour. She gulped, that strange rush of fear engulfing her for the first time in so long, and cautiously crept up towards the door. Upon reaching the doorway she could see a dark figure garbed in the moon shining through the window. Black spiky armor adorned the person, with crimson boots and a wicked looking hammer of the same color at his belt. Most astonishingly, a cape of glowing flames cast frightening shadows about. As she trembled and gaped she noisily stumbled over the cloak hanger next to the doorway, upon which the figure dashed around, as quick as lightning. Sarah heard a metallic singing, and the next thing she knew she was pressed against the wall with the edge of a glimmering silver sword to her throat. She stared at the sword and then into the helm of the intruder, a fearful visage with covered ears, mouth and one lensed eye, the other eye obscured by shadows. A heavy and audible breathing sounded through the helm, and that same burst of fear as years ago coursed through her. Despite her musings of the future of life, she found herself so terribly afraid of death at the sword of this stranger in her friend's home. That was, until the figure trembled, his sword leaving a thin line on her throat as she gasped, and was roughly pushed to the side. The man hurriedly backed away as his sword fell to the floor, impaling the stone. Gloved hands clutched where his face would be, and a muffled voice sounded.

"…a..rah…"

From her position against the opposite window, she calmed a little at what she thought was her name. She pulled herself up and carefully walked towards the armoured man.

"…Um…" she started, unsure and still afraid, "how do you know my name?" The man looked up slowly, and reached out slowly towards her. He stopped when he got closer to her, and then slowly reached up and unlatched his helmet, dropping it with a clatter.

Though everything seemed so different than she remembered, she still knew that face, and brought her hands to her mouth.

"My… my gods Will, what are you doing here like this? You… you scared me half to death!"

Will paused, as though he didn't recognize what she was saying. He brought his shaking and armoured hand to her face.

"Sarah…" She looked at his face and noticed something, ignoring the way her name sounded from him, something she hadn't heard in so long.

"Will… you've been crying…" Indeed, his face was streaked with clear trails of tears, and his eyes were rimmed red. He brought his other hand to her shoulder and pulled her a bit closer.

"Sarah… you're… you're really here…" Her fear was now slowly changing to a different kind of fear.

"Hey, are you alright? Or is my name the only thing you can say?" she tried to lighten things with her old wit. Her words made something glow in his eyes, like they were food to a starving man.

"Sarah… please promise me something… promise me… you'll never change, you'll stay the way you are… the way you've always been."

Yes, she was definitely concerned for her friend.

"Well seeing as I'm unlikely to ever leave this place, I think I can do that much." He smiled with relief and suddenly pulled her to him. She felt her heartbeat return to unknown levels.

"H-hey, what are you—"

She was cut off as he hastily kissed her.

All thoughts were driven from her mind. Her heart felt full, like it would burst from her chest. Then her eyes drifted shut and she jerkily put her hand on the back of his head. Despite the chill, it was sweaty. They kissed awkwardly, messily, and yet she found herself elevated, and she realized what she'd wanted all these years.

They broke apart, gasping slightly. Will held her close to his cold and hard armour plating.

"Please… never leave me alone," he breathed. She gazed at him, registering his words slowly, her mind feeling fuzzy.

"I… I… alright."

She could tell by his eyes that her words made him happy. He focused them, then released her, turning into the light. Now that she could see him better she noticed the changes. His hair was longer and tied in the back, his shoulders and uncovered arms were thick and broad, not like she remembered. He leaned forward against his table, taking in the familiar sights. He seemed to be composing himself, and breathed deeply.

"…Have you come back to the world, Will?" she asked, while blushing and also trying to hastily do the same. He raised his head.

"I should tell you, I mostly go by Thorkur these days." Sarah slowly began wondering just how much had happened while he'd been gone, and how little had happened to her in return.

"As if, to me you'll always be Will, and pumpkin head." He chuckled deeply, and her thoughts lightened.

"Fine then." He turned around, his face looking a bit less haunted, and gestured with his hand for her to come join him on the rooftop, the same way he'd done when they were young.

As they sat on the roof watching the waves crash against the cliffside, Sarah shivered a bit, still coming down from her spike of adrenaline. Will removed his strange and wonderful cape of flowing flames and wrapped it around her, and she was instantly warmed.

"Wow, they should market this, I bet it would be the latest hot thing off the street vendors." Will laughed softly.

"I don't think the makers would appreciate that. Besides, this cape is something of an extreme rarity, presented only to those who are… worthy."

"Well then I'm honored."

She noticed he spoke more slowly and quietly than before, or maybe it was just the circumstances. She squirmed a little, remembering the heat of the kiss just a minute ago, unsure of how to approach it.

"Won't you be cold without it then?" he shook his head and smiled.

"That's not what I wear it for. Besides, I've spent a lot of time in places both much hotter and much colder than you can possibly imagine."

"Well, listen to Mr. big-shot hero here, all grown up." He removed the heavy gloves from his hands and reached over to cup her cheek.

"I'm not the only one." She blushed darkly.

"Wh-what do you mean by that, hm?"

"Well, your hair's a little longer, you have a new dress, your voice is a little different, and…" he stopped.

"Well… you just seem more… elegant." Her heart skipped a bit, and she looked for a different subject to distract them.

"Well, anyway, um… what brought you here at this hour?"

"…Maybe I was feeling nostalgic." She turned back to him, relieved that at least she could still read him like a book when he was troubled.

"I don't doubt it, but when they scare me out of my wits with a sword to my neck I'm entitled to a little more explanation." His smile waned a little.

"Ah… sorry about that. Really, I am." She gave him a look and he scratched the back of his head like every other time she'd been mad at him. She understood this time though, and would let it slide, provided that he didn't try to lop her head again.

"I guess I'm just used to… killing things. And having things trying to kill me." She frowned and decided to bring it back up.

"Will… what happened?" she looked at him hard. He failed to meet her gaze, and his voice dropped.

"I've been everywhere there is to go you know. Seen and done things. Some things I'd rather forget about. I've met all the races of the realm, been a friend to many, a villain to others. I've made all sorts of discoveries. Fought _so many _battles. In some areas people say that I'm the best there is at what I do, but I know that's not true. Not always." He was rambling, trying to avoid what she wanted him to say.

"I've got a few Capes of Accomplishment, you know," her eyes widened a bit, "and I'd always wanted to get them all, to be the first… or maybe it's actually the second… but now I… I'm wondering if I'll live long enough to see that day." He took a deep breath, and she waited on edge, eyes silently prompting for him to continue.

"Guthix is dead." This time, Sarah felt her heart come to a stop. She couldn't speak, only wait for him to go on, if he did. He did.

"His resting place after the God Wars was discovered. The factions of every other god came, mostly for the same thing… I did what I could, but no matter how much I learn or how powerful I become, I couldn't have stopped it. First I watched it happen, then I saw everything that made Guthix who he was. There was so much that I didn't know, that no one knew… so much pain… and he… he gave me a job to do. Said I was the only one who could. But I can't. I _can't."_

She tried hard to find her voice again.

"…I know you better than anyone, you know. I believe in you." She couldn't think of what else to say, and wrapped her fingers around his. He held on to her tightly.

"…It's the dawn of a new Age." He looked out towards the horizon, which was starting to get light.

"There's war coming, greater and more terrible than Gielinor has ever seen. The gods will fight each other. They will fight us too. Us mortals, who can only try and stand in their way." He looked at her, pleading her to understand.

"What can we do? Who can stop them from getting whatever they want?" He shook his head.

"You can. Isn't that right?" He looked back at her with wide eyes.

"That's what Guthix wants you do to, isn't it? To protect everyone."

"…Yes."

"And he believed you could do it?"

"Yes. He gave me power to do so."

"Then you should believe in him, right?"

He nodded slowly.

"And believe in me too. Because I believe in you."

He only threaded his fingers through hers as they watched the sun rise.

They later stood outside his old home with the sun now creeping higher in the sky, hands still held.

"Now make sure you come back sooner than seven years from now, okay pumpkin head?" she said gently.

"I'll be back soon, I think. Maybe in a week or two. It's not like it's difficult for me, a master of magic, to do anymore. I want to tell you about everything else. What happened, and what I've been doing all this time. But right now it's… difficult. I'm sure news of the Sixth Age will spread very quickly though." She nodded in understanding.

"I'll always be here for you," she said softly. He looked on her with warm and grateful green eyes that made her stomach flutter when it didn't used to.

Then he reached up to caress her chin, and leaned forward. She closed her blue eyes in anticipation, and his mouth met hers, this time with gentleness.

She could not describe the kiss, not the feeling of his rougher lips on her soft ones, or the way his other hand reached out to brush the curl of her hair aside. When her tongue reached out, he immediately allowed her passage as she stroked his mouth softly. And when they broke apart the only way she could think of it was that it had been with Will, and that it was wonderful.

"Sarah, I…" she gently silenced him.

"I know. And I want to scold you for doing things terribly out of order. But still… I'm glad. And me too." She reached up to hold his hand where it rested on her cheek.

"Now, I think you need to get some rest. I'm sure you have many places to go, and important people to meet."

"None of them are as important as you." He released her but kept his gaze on her. She watched in fascination as he faded in a swirl of purple light.

Later, Sarah found herself unable to sleep despite being very tired. The events of late aside, Sarah could not prevent a plan from forming in her mind. She felt like she'd been waiting her whole life for something that she was just beginning to understand. Will probably wouldn't approve of what she was about to do, but while he was out protecting everyone, who would protect him?

The week following Will's promised visit a brief note appeared on her mother's kitchen table as the old family sword disappeared from the mantle.

* * *

**Year 2 of the Sixth Age, early summer**

As a goddess, Sumona could see far within the reaches of the desert. She could see the insects rolling along the grains, the pyramids standing proud, vultures circling high in search of scraps, crocodiles slinking through the muddy waters on the hunt and the monkey colony tittering in disagreement with each other. This was her domain, her land, her kingdom. She arose from meditation to greet the rising sun, gazing unblinking into its unforgiving rays. Sometimes she wondered what pain mortals would feel doing the same, but it did not harm her. The sun and the wind ran through the winding sands bringing with them destruction. The desert had been the only home she knew after her father had destroyed the lush greens to show the mahjarrat their folly. That had been when she'd understood the fallacy of rebirth, for in this barren land, nothing could survive, would ever survive.

Her irritation at the human tribes that remained in the desert had lasted with her for thousands of years now. Who would choose to continue living in such desolation, where nothing grew, where the sun beat down in the day and chill winds ravaged at night? Those humans thought so arrogantly, believing that they could control this harsh world, use it to their advantage, and live. She knew that someday they would understand the consequences of their own ignorance, and then the desert lands could give them no more. At that time they would leave, or die. When Sumona had first donned her current persona, she'd had difficulty keeping her disdain out of sight, sometimes snarling at passing patrols of Menaphite soldiers. They were the oldest humans to have ever lived in the desert, even since before the God Wars began. She tried not to think of the times when the Menaphites had aided her in protecting the Kharidian lands, when times were different. There was no worth left in the past.

And as the past was the past, today she could manage a stiff nod towards the waving street vendor opening his wares for the day.

She didn't venture out of her home very often. She didn't shop, eat, or partake in any human entertainment. Sometimes she went down into the smoke dungeon, or off to the pyramids, or else went to spy on various officials in Al Kharid, but today was a little different. She could see all within the desert, including the presence of one human in particular, the only human she was familiar with. The human who simultaneously foiled her every attempt at gaining total control over these desert lands and then made every attempt to befriend her. A human she'd attempted to kill several times.

Sumona waved aside the curtain to the bar, where Ali the Barman was attempting to rouse Thorkur, who was slumped over the bar with several varieties of empty glasses beside him.

She rolled her eyes.

Sumona strode up to the figure where Ali the Barman gave her an exasperated glance.

"Would you mind taking him off my hands, miss Sumona? I need to open and with all that alcohol and the day starting he could dehydrate himself out here." She just nodded, and hoisted him effortlessly onto her shoulder. She looked around for his rucksack, knowing what she would find. She rummaged through it and found two small tablets. She crushed them and the world shimmered, Ali the Barman's wave farewell fading.

She shook off dizziness as the world refocused, not used to the mortals' more crude teleports. She adjusted Thorkur's still body and looked around, having never been in Thorkur's home before.

She hadn't been in many homes at all, really.

The sounds of various chattering birds filtered around the garden she was in. In front of her was what she guessed was the foyer, featuring armchairs, bookcases and a fireplace. To her right was a somewhat lavishly decorated chapel, with what she knew was an altar to Guthix, complete with gildings and a stained glass piece filtering light from the east where the sun shown down. To her left she saw marble portals of various colors no doubt leading to every corner of the realm. Behind her and past the garden was every manner of small creature gathered around what appeared to be a miniature home. She raised an eyebrow at the oddity. She could (to herself) proudly admit that the sloth on her shoulder was almost a master of a skill that involved killing everything that moved, but yet was also fostering these younglings for some purpose she could not understand. She observed a haughty looking blue owl stiffly ruffle its feathers toward a fierce red hawk. The hawk screeched indignantly and flew towards the owl, where they flapped about in a scuffle like schoolyard children. Almost immediately a large green bird glided forwards and dragged the red hawk away, before turning to the owl and cawing at it. The owl tilted its head in shame while the hawk shuffled away. The green bird leapt back and continued to bear a withering gaze towards both other birds.

Sumona wondered why the sight wanted to make her laugh.

"_Mew"._

Sumona jumped, shivers going down her spine, making Thorkur groan on her shoulder. She ignored him. She looked down, where a large, grey cat gazed up at the two, before lazily yawing and nuzzling Thorkur's prone leg. She took a deep breath and began pointedly looking at a patch of unfamiliar red flowers, trying to control her shaking. She carefully thought to herself about how she supposed the color on the flowers was nice, that their petals were an elegant design, and that she definitely liked the thorns on their bush.

Then the bush began smoldering under her gaze, and she looked away, now trying to keep a lid on her destructive urges. She began wondering how she could get out of this, and how much she wanted to throw fireballs at Thorkur right now because how dare he put her in this situation and that this was all his fault just like it always was. She was thankfully spared from further insidious thoughts.

_"Are you alright, miss?"_ Alathazdrar said from the foyer. Her eyes flashed towards him, her mind currently ignoring the fact that a demon dressed in a suit was in Thorkur's house, politely inquiring after her wellbeing.

"I don't… _like… _cats," she hissed. Without another word Alathazdrar picked up the cat, whispered that the master would be fine, and gently teleported it to some other part of the house. She immediately felt her rage regressing.

"_Now then, if I may introduce myself, I am Alathazdrar," _the demon bowed low before her, _"I live to serve my current lord and master, who you hold so carefully on your shoulder."_ She bristled.

"I—he—this fool's just intoxicated." Alathazdrar nodded his horned head.

"_Yes indeed, this has been happening rather often recently. The master's been a bit… distressed. He refuses to say why, but I suspect it primarily has to do with a lady friend of his."_

She kept silent, her gaze steely. Alathazdrar seemed to be waiting for some sort of reaction from her, well, she had none to give him.

"_Nonetheless, I thank you for helping him home. You must be Sumona, from your… traits, as my lord has described to me."_ She nodded, her gaze not shifting.

"_Well then, if you could simply bring him up to an armchair, I will fetch something to rouse him. You may make yourself comfortable, I have ensured that Hopkins will not trouble you further during your stay." _He teleported off. Sumona breathed easily, realizing that Hopkins must be that filthy cat. She sent a withering gaze at Thorkur, knowing he was still not awake, for abiding with her brother's dastardly creatures. Even so, she gently pulled him up the front steps and into a squashy armchair next to a bookcase and a low table. Deciding she'd wait for Alathazdrar to come wake him before throttling him, she stood and considered that the opposite room might be interesting.

Gilded writing at the head of the door labeled this room as the quest hall. Sumona looked around inside, and quickly recognized the glass display on the near wall with a ragged but stark white cape. It was the same cape that Thorkur had worn every day he'd come to her for an assignment, some years ago now. He'd been eager to follow her every destructive whim, and she'd eventually accepted that he simply would not die on any of her assignments, and she became… almost content to let things continue, though looking back she could not understand why. Later when he'd stopped asking for assignments from her he'd started wearing a variety of other capes. It would be a Fire Cape, a Skillcape, a Guthix Cape, or some peculiar ranging device. Only seeing this one labeled "Cape of Legends" did she realize the poignancy of such a familiar object, and how much she noticed it when it was gone. She turned away, noting that looking at it seemed distressing.

Next to the cape on the wall was a black, unshining sword. With a close look she recognized that it was imbibed with demon's blood. She idly wondered how Alathazdrar felt about that. Upon the far wall she felt her eyes drawn to the wide landscape of conifer trees and crystal spires. She inspected it interestedly, looking at the sweeping brushstrokes and merging colors. It was curious to her, it was just a material creation depicting a location, yet something about it felt appealing. She considered that she was hardly familiar with anything but rocks and sand, and found this green land almost inconceivable after thousands of years of solitude.

She went to the map in the centre of the room, and found it marked with various locales and scrawled notes. Thorkur clearly used this for research. She found herself drawn to the desert areas, and somewhat impudently thought they should be bigger than that. Sumona secretly wondered if she should visit other places. Over the years she'd at least learned to pass among the humans without causing trouble, though she also wondered why she wanted to.

On the final wall what she saw forced her to admit to her own emotions.

It was a painted image of Thorkur and a blonde woman. Thorkur was portrayed in sweeping dark robes and a twisted staff, but was well groomed, smiling, and wore a modest crown. His arm held the woman close to him. The woman was also smiling, with ease and confidence, clad in form-fitting leather gear. A bow was visible on her back. Sumona had never really encountered the concept of art, but acknowledged that whoever had painted this had done well. She was familiar with how Thorkur's eyes looked in the image, and therefore trusted the rest of the image to be accurate. The woman's grey eyes held a fierce determination; Sumona could see a depth to them that for a moment reminded her of herself. Stormy waves crested in the background against the bow of the ship they were standing on, completing the painting. She turned her eyes and suddenly realized what this room represented. She'd always thought that she'd known Thorkur well, that she was familiar with him, that he'd demonstrated all that could be found in mortal humans, but now she understood that she hardly knew anything about him. She'd never really known anyone as well as she did him, and had just assumed that was all there was to it, to anyone. She was immortal, thousands of years older than Thorkur. He, like all mortals, could only be so complicated, so worthwhile compared to that, but with this painting and this room she finally understood.

She'd been wrong, and hadn't known Thorkur at all. Maybe she hadn't ever known anyone at all.

And she ached inside.

"_The mistress was a very inspiring woman."_ Alathazdrar had returned, and seemed to have sought her out before attending to Thorkur. She could no longer be startled by his presence.

"…I can see that in her eyes." Alathazdrar nodded in agreement.

"_Yes, I observed that an inner strength had enabled her to perform glorious deeds, which she often talked of. Many of her aspirations went unfulfilled, however. I only met her a few times before her death in combat." _He lowered his head in regret.

"So she died… who… was she, exactly?"

"_Mistress Astrid was a princess of a barbarian kingdom, from which Thorkur also obtained his current name. At first he sought to marry her for more political reasons. But as he once described to me, 'she was wealthy, a snob, and otherwise arrogant in her status, completely unlikeable, but eventually I saw the pain in her eyes, and the strength of her soul, and vowed to do everything to make her smile one of truth and her inner strength manifest, and I grew to love her.'"_

"So she was his… wife." Sumona stumbled over the term.

"_Yes, although by then they only remained married for a short time before she and her brother were killed by beasts from the deep oceans."_

Alathazdrar raised his head to look at her. Despite all her time spent in Pollnivneach, she still found herself more at ease among a demon than with humans.

"_If I may miss, I would not recommend broaching the subject to the master. Though it has been a few years, it would still cause him grief."_

Sumona found she had nothing to say to that. She may have wondered why she would deny an opportunity to cause Thorkur pain, but had no appeal towards the thought. She only felt a confusion she could not describe.

"_In continuation, I have prepared a little… concoction to awaken the master,"_ he held up a vial of some strong-smelling paste and a glass of water. She followed him back to the foyer, where Thorkur was snoring quietly.

A little later she was standing in the study with a smirk on her face as Thorkur eased himself into the desk while rubbing his head.

"It's not funny, you know."

"I don't know what you mean." In part, this was true. She hadn't felt much light amusement since a time she would rather forget.

"Well, whatever. Thanks for your help, I guess." She raised an eyebrow, something she'd observed from watching humans act in this manner.

"I was under the impression that consuming alcohol led to poor health among you."

"Yes. At worst, people can die from it." She paused as he allowed this to sink in for a moment, and then cut her off when she opened her mouth to object again.

"But I would have been fine. Ever since I became the World Guardian Death won't let me die permanently until such that I am no longer necessary. And if Death should somehow fail in doing this, which he would have during the recent incident with Sliske, your brother wouldn't allow it either."

She folded her arms and scowled at the wall at the interruption and the mention of Icthlarin.

"I met him. He was running ragged managing the Underworld while also taking souls for Death. He's a really nice guy you know, I think he could have used your help with that."

"Don't patronize me, Thorkur, if he keeps himself busy then I want no part of it," she grumbled at him. He just smiled good-naturedly.

"He asked me to help you. No, that's not quite right. He entreated me, nearly begged me. He still cares a lot for you, and not because he's been working both of your old roles."

"My brother is _dead_ to me," she snarled.

Thorkur sighed.

"Well, I guess that reminds me. I haven't told you about that incident yet. I should, because it's important to you. It could mean your life."

"Really now?" Sumona dead-panned, "you're referring to the actions of a mahjarrat? I would relish the chance to wring his neck." Thorkur's face grimaced at her, which she found… displeasing.

"No, Sumona. Sliske is the one who killed Guthix."

She also found being cowed to be something she abhorred.

Following his explanation of Death's kidnapping Sumona's mood grew dark in a way she was not used to. She was not angry, she was not hateful.

Just… dark.

"This Sliske is not like the other mahjarrat. Death is powerful. The dragonkin are powerful. The gods are the most powerful. How could he possibly influence them?" Thorkur just sighed and downed Alathazdrar's glass of water.

"How does Sliske do any of the things he's done? Is he my enemy or is he my friend? Sliske is both powerful and cunning beyond imagining. I don't have a clue of how to deal with him." He simply shook his head and looked at her imploringly, like he had back with Wahisietel.

She did not like how that look made her feel.

"On one hand I can't possibly forgive him for killing Guthix. But in a way it was what Guthix wanted all along."

She did not have the answer he seemed to want.

"And the Stone of Jas. Somehow it always comes back to the Stone of Jas. I think the gods are about to clash over that Elder Artifact once again."

"What are those?" But after so much explaining on his hangover Thorkur seemed to have trouble continuing.

"The Stone of Jas, the Crown, the Staff, the Horn, the Kiln…"

He noticed she did not understand him.

"Ask me again later. And that diamond of yours might be related too, if you would tell me what it was."

It took her a moment to figure out what he was talking about. Finally she remembered the Kharid-ib that she'd stolen almost a decade ago, when she'd first been foiled by Thorkur. Things had been so much more eventful since then than she was used to, she hadn't recalled the incident much. Yet here he was, asking about it so easily, even though his eyes back then had looked upon her with both wonder and hatred.

"I—I still don't understand much about it. I just—felt like I wanted it. It seemed important." Sumona cursed being caught off guard in her admission.

"Like you'd been searching for it all your life, you said."

She did remember that. She slowly nodded, not knowing why she avoided his eyes.

"I have a suspicion about it that I developed after my more recent historical finds. The Elder Artifacts were a major influence on this research as well." He smiled at her.

"But I think I'll tell you about that some other time, after I've investigated my suspicions."

How he aggravated her.

"Well Sumona… I think I should get back to slaying. That's productive, right?"

Now he was learning to manipulate her. Somehow, the reversal was fascinating. He stood up and she went with him back out into the garden. As she glanced at the rosebush she was inwardly pleased to see that it had not been damaged by her assault. They left through the portal to the outside and she felt a chill different from the desert nights. She found it invigorating as she glanced at the walled settlement nearby and the conifer trees like the ones in the painting. Thorkur turned to her.

"It was nice to have you here. I used to hold all sorts of parties with other adventurers, but it's been a long time since then. No one has been a guest in my house for years, when I turned my focus inward." As he walked close to her, her attention was diverted towards him.

"I want to thank you for helping me, and I've decided that being somewhat immortal is no reason to lay waste to myself. I need to be strong." For once, her eyes went to his.

"Of… course, Thorkur," her voice suddenly felt soft. He paused without looking away from her.

"I've known you for a long time now, at least for me. I've lost a lot of people since then. I met my wife and lost her to monsters. Many of my friends have died. My closest friend may have left me for good. The god I believed in more than anything was killed. And now the gods and maybe even mortals will attempt to kill each other over the Stone of Jas."

The reality of the situation was finally dawning on her as she realized how much she'd depended on the Edicts of Guthix.

"You could be targeted too, Sumona. Any of them could do it, if you're not careful."

Yes, she was beginning to understand. She didn't notice Thorkur walk towards her more.

"I want you to understand, Sumona. Things have changed. With my abilities as World Guardian, you won't be able to attack me like you used to. I could probably even kill you myself."

She knew he was right as fear she'd barely remembered suddenly ran through her.

"But I won't, and not just because I promised Icthlarin I would help you. In truth, I agreed with him a long time ago. I _want_ to help you."

She knew his eyes, and knew he wasn't lying to her. She now noticed his proximity, and her breath hitched like it had never done in her life.

"You're important to me now, and I don't want to lose you too."

Sumona felt something stir inside her, something she'd thought she'd lost that day in Freneskae. Her entire body ached with no pain. Her physical heart began to pound in some unknown fear.

Then Thorkur slowly ghosted his hand over her cheek. Her red eyes were wide as they continued to stare into his green ones. Her body was trembling. She did not know what was happening to her.

"You know, Ozan was right back then. You're beautiful… Amascut."

Her name.

He'd said her name.

He chastely brought his lips to hers and her mind left her. Her eyes eased shut and she stopped shaking, instead feeling light and floaty. The moment was short, but passed to her longer than the eternity of which she'd lived. During that time, she felt expunged of all her ill will. She felt free.

Then she snapped out of it and tried to blast Thorkur with fire exploding from her hands. As he'd told her, nothing happened to him, but he backed away, looking guarded and confused, but Amascut didn't much register it. She crouched down, eyes shining and canines bared, panting. Her soul was ablaze, the anima in her body running wild. It was like she was fracturing inside to reveal something concealed within.

Amascut was afraid of that something. She was afraid of what was happening to her. She was afraid of power that she could not control.

Everything inside her that she'd buried deep was bursting forth, unchained from her being.

She could not bear the storm inside her, and vanished to safety, to the barren land of her past, to home, where her soothing mother could quiet her.

Thorkur watched the blackened spot she'd left on, wishing to chase her, to help her. But a storm began inside him as well.

"Sarah… what am I doing? What are any of us doing?" he said to the sapphire sky.

He sat ruminating on edge for several minutes, remembering Sarah's note and her distraught mother.

He knew she hadn't left him like it seemed. That thought was just to redirect him from his real fear, that in her half-baked plan she'd run headlong into danger and die somewhere far away from home. Thinking she'd left him was a lie, meant to distract him.

But Amascut was no distraction.

She'd always captivated him, and ever since he'd understood her past he'd wanted to save her. He just didn't know if falling for her was the solution, but from what had just happened, maybe it was.

Between Sarah and Amascut, his own storm of fear and confusion was rending him apart.

It was an opportune moment for Wahisietel to appear and greet him.

"You seem unbalanced, Thorkur, and I feel some strange energy. Has something happened?" he said sharply. Something else seemed to have him on edge as well.

"No… don't worry about it. If you're here to see me, something important must be going on." Thorkur tried to clear his head as Wahisietel cleared his throat.

"Indeed. The lord Zaros shall return. He is requesting your presence and it alone."

A long pause.

"…Of course he is. Let me make some preparations. I have a feeling I'll need them. Where shall I be?"

"Azzanadra awaits you at the World Gate when you are ready. Sliske will be there as well." Now Thorkur knew just why Wahisietel was agitated. Wahisietel had absolute confidence in his lord, but Sliske had proven on more than one occasion that he could throw a wrench into the god's plans.

Thorkur quieted his mind.

"Very well. I'm on my way."

* * *

"**You have questions."**

"Yes. Who you are. What you want. Everything, I need to know.

"**Then I shall do my best to answer your questions, and vow to hide nothing I am comfortable discussing."**

Zaros raised himself high to aid his presentation.

Thorkur did not know how day and night worked on Freneskae, but by the time he'd nearly run out of questions it would surely be time for an evening drink back home. Zaros seemed unconcerned with the passage of time. Indeed, time seemed as though it mattered little to him.

"You speak of things I've not heard from the other gods. Are you unique?"

"**All beings are unique, but I understand your meaning." **His tone held none, simply fact and explanation.

"**There is one akin to I – the divine aspect of light energy."**

"Who?"

"**I shall not speak of it here, but I sense you have an inkling of whom I speak."**

So it was Seren.

"**What I will share is that all magic comes from elder gods, and that magic comes from anima – that which philosophers fancifully call a soul. The elder gods wield their magic to create anima generators – what we call worlds. The young gods' power is magic stolen from the elder gods. It is limited, fleeting. My power derives directly from anima."**

That sounded familiar. Zaros continued unabated along Thorkur's train of thought.

"**I believe Guthix discovered this link – which allowed him to gain the power he did. It was his knowledge of anima that enabled him to create his edicts… and to create you, World Guardian. With his death, the young gods' eyes have been opened to the divine. And their ignorance would see them tear this world's 'soul' asunder. This cannot be allowed to happen.**

Thorkur felt a burden lift away from him. It seemed their goals could intersect.

"It's been very difficult to learn about you. Why were you so opposed?"

"**Sometimes, simply being the largest target is enough to become vilified, but it is also because I sought unification. I wanted to bring all the young gods under my banner, but they would not recognize my divinity. I would have welcomed them all, but they were blinkered by their own narrow, dogmatic views, and so they rejected me. I did not start wars, I was just better at them… and through war I started to make progress."**

"What about after Zamorak deposed you?" Zaros' image shifted, and two familiar figures appeared, one red and one blue.

"**Zamorak feared retribution from those remnants of my empire who remained loyal to me. Saradomin sought my secrets. Whether to steal them or bury them, I cannot say. Ultimately, it is not important. The empire failed, and is no more. To build another would be folly. Mortals cannot by united by will or by force alone. Even if they could, doing so would take more time than we have."**

"More time than we have? Before what?"

"**Before the Great Revision**

"Which is?"

"**The death of this universe."**

Well. There was always a bigger fish, wasn't there? Thorkur tried not to think too hard on this right now. Zaros seemed to know what he was saying, and Thorkur had a lot on his mind from their discussion already.

"I think I'll get back to you on that… I want to know what you think of Guthix."

Zaros shifted again in a purple flash, appearing as the young Guthix Thorkur saw in the visions of his young life and times.

"**He was like a myth, spoken of in hushed tones by those of his followers who had not allied with other gods. I would very much have liked to have met him. We shared some ideals. We both value mortal life enough to step aside."**

Thorkur knew this was all he'd needed.

"**Though where he would leave them to their own devices, and their own failures, I would guide them subtly towards their true destinies. I would not impose my beliefs as other gods do, nor force them into worship of me. My aim is to be the voice that drives them to greatness. Not all would heed the call, but not all have to."**

Again, Thorkur decided that this was a preferable view. There was just one doubt in the back of his mind, but he'd look into it separately. Zaros would probably agree as well, and Thorkur continued to ask.

"**I note that you are a follower of Seren."**

"She's even less prominent than you, but I developed a vested interest in her, especially after Guthix was killed. They were close." Zaros nodded.

"**In fact, I am pleased that you would seek her guidance and protection, and in turn protect her. However, that is all I am willing to say about Seren."**

Disappointment aside, Thorkur was reminded of a somewhat less relevant question he wanted to ask, but decided to sort through the rest of his curiosity first.

"You've shown an interest in the dragonkin. How do you see them?"

"**They are an intriguing race, but we will need to deal with them if we are to rouse the elder gods."**

"Do you know where they come from?"

"**I suspect their home plane was destroyed soon after the elder gods first left Freneskae. A small number of dragonkin survived this revision by taking shelter in the Abyss, among the detritus of previous cycles."**

"What are you saying? Revisions? Previous cycles?"

"**This is a truth best revealed slowly. You will come to it in time."**

Thorkur was beginning to feel overwhelmed, Zaros was right.

"**I believe the surviving dragonkin sought out Jas for mercy, or retribution, only to end up bound to her Catalyst. For the elder god to hear the pleas of mortals will require someone to bridge the gap. Only a being of divine origin, such as I, has a hope of communicating with them."**

"Why not the younger gods compared to you? Didn't you wish to rule over them as well?"

"**I saw it as my divine right. The failure of my empire opened my eyes, however. Since then I have had much time to consider my failures. I was acting no better than Mah, attempting to control mortals. I see my role now being to lead mortals – the young gods included – towards uplifting themselves. And to work with those powerful few who have stepped beyond the need for guidance. I see this in you."**

Thorkur once again looked into those eyes in which he himself saw the light fade into stone.

"**Guthix saw this in you too, at the end, but his inaction has cost us dearly."**

"Guthix's inaction?"

"**Yes. Gielinor hides a truth the likes of which even Guthix was not aware. If he had known, he would have done more than sleep. Freneskae holds the clues; you have seen this with your own eyes.**

"You're referring to the Elder Halls?"

"**I am. They exist only within 'perfect' worlds: Freneskae and Gielinor."**

"What exactly are they?"

"**A simpler term for them would be 'nests'."**

"I see. How do you see yourself?"

"**I do not understand the question."**

At any other time, Thorkur would have been amused.

"Some see you as controlling, others as evil, and yet your loyal followers are in awe of you. Did you not say yourself that you were the divine aspect of dark energy?"

"**Do not confuse darkness and light with evil and good. Real life does not deal in absolutes, not extremes. All life falls on a spectrum, and all life has capacity for both good and evil. Judge me only my actions and my words, not by the words of others. I have made mistakes… but I do what I do because it must be done, and because there is no other who would. No other that could."**

"Then I only have one more set of questions for you. What are your goals?"

"**Thanks to you, I have obtained a new body and returned to Gielinor. I am returned to full strength, and shall resume the pursuit of my ultimate ambition."**

"Which is to become an elder god?"

"**Yes. I am a being of divine creation – it is my birthright. But more than that, I cannot achieve my wider aims until I transcend."**

"You wish to control all mortals?"

"**Not control, and not all. Not even the elder gods are all-knowing or all-seeing. I merely wish to encourage certain individuals to reach their full potential. Individuals such as yourself."**

"What do you get out of doing this?"

"**I believe that the elder gods' time is done, that they have failed. A new world order is required. Conscious life was not the intention of the elder gods, but it is their creation nonetheless. Yet they are blind to it, and would consign it all to the Abyss without a second thought. If I were an elder god, they would have to listen to me, and I could show them their error. As to why I do this, mortal life fascinates me. It has such potential for growth; it is both fragile and resilient; and it reacts quickly to change. The current elder gods are stagnant and slow, and too fragile – Mah is proof enough of this."**

"Then, what is your plan?"

Zaros seemed to draw up into himself.

"**I intend to wake the elder gods. I will speak for all mortals, and the elder gods will listen."**

"And you think you have that right?"

"**If not me, than who?"**

"Who indeed? Where are the elder gods?"

"**They are where they have always been since the creation of Gielinor. On Gielinor."**

Thorkur's body felt like lead.

"What are your plans for me?"

"**I hope to call on you. There is much to be done if we are to succeed. I will not ask anything of you that compromises you, or conflicts with your status as World Guardian. Until then, do as you would always do. Choose your path. Follow whatever philosophy or god you desire."**

"You don't want me to worship you?"

"**I do not require your fealty, though I would welcome it should you wish to give it. I only require your support when you are called upon, for the benefit of all. All else matters naught in the face of the Great Revision."**

Thorkur felt a great sense of closure. And purpose.

"I've heard all I need to."

"**Indeed. Return to the memorium reader should you wish to speak to me again."**

The image of Zaros faded, as did Thorkur's inhibitions.

He would need time to think. He knew that he must seek out information on the elder gods, to try and find them, to stop them.

He also knew that he must aid Seren, that she would balance out Zaros with her light, and the universe with him.

Maybe he also sought comfort from the one whom had known Guthix best.

Sarah and Amascut were far from his mind, but they would not remain so.

Thorkur would go on, but Will was tired.


End file.
